


Resemblance

by FeatherQuilt88



Series: The Amber Dragon Anthology [24]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Air Nomads (Avatar), Food, Friendship, Games, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Happy, Healing, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Post-Canon, Pranks and Practical Jokes, reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23193376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatherQuilt88/pseuds/FeatherQuilt88
Summary: Iroh reminds Aang of someone.
Relationships: Aang & Gyatso, Aang & Iroh (Avatar)
Series: The Amber Dragon Anthology [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988473
Comments: 16
Kudos: 180





	Resemblance

**Author's Note:**

> For readers new to my "Amber Dragon" fanfic series (which is canon-divergent from the comics and LOK)--in it, a small group of Air Nomads actually survived in a hidden underground city during the war. After the war, Aang and his friends found them and brought them back to the surface. Also of note, Iroh and Zuko have started calling each other "Dad" and "Son" now.

Iroh dances around the newly-refurbished Air temple like an enchanted child--taking in every sight of beautiful fluttering pennants, every tinkle of glittering wind-chimes.

 _It seems strange,_ Aang thinks, _to compare them._

They sit together at the Pai-Sho table. The old man rubs his hands together delightedly.

_One was a spindly little beanpole, with a voice as high and light as mountain-dove feathers; one is a burly little butterball, with a voice as deep and growly as an old badgerfrog's._

They tease each other back and forth a bit. Iroh compliments Aang on giving him much more of a challenge than Zuko.

 _It's the easy laughter IN those voices, though,_ Aang suddenly realizes. _The same playfulness, and gentleness...._

Iroh taps Aang on the shoulder, distracting him for a moment. He points behind them, to the window, where some other Air nomads are playing with gliders and lemurs in the distance.

When Aang turns back, he sees that Iroh has switched two of their Pai-Sho pieces on the table.

The old Firebender is shocked when his young friend, his Avatar, bursts out crying.

"Oh, _Aang!_ " Iroh leaps upon him, patting his shoulders in an instant. "It was only a joke, my dear boy--I was only playing with you!"

Aang wipes frantically at his tears, fighting for control of his voice, just long enough to reassure Iroh it was not his fault. The young Avatar is sixteen now, and his voice is beginning to crack at times.

He tells Iroh about the guardian who used to play that very same trick on him. He tells him about Gyatso.

Aang's tears have company, for now Iroh is crying too.

He lets Aang sob brokenly into his shoulder--his warm Firebender shoulder. He lets Aang tell him how, while the return of the Air Nomads has been a miracle beyond his wildest dreams, a home restored to him, with it has come a new pain--for he keeps wishing, half-expecting, to see Gyatso around every corner.

"You will be reunited with your guardian someday, Aang," Iroh whispers, comforting his young friend. He pulls the little nomad's head out of his shoulder, very caringly. "And I _know_ that Gyatso would be _so proud_ of you!" The old amber eyes glisten, in stark contrast with the cold golden ones of his grandfather, whose orders took Gyatso's life so long ago.

Aang's own gray ones begin to smile back, just slightly, as he sniffs. "Thanks, Iroh."

"It is _I_ who should thank _you,_ for comparing me to him," Iroh beams humbly. "Gyatso sounds like he would have been a marvelous friend. --And he certainly taught you well!" he nods towards the Pai-Sho board, kindly rearranging the switched tiles to their rightful places.

But Aang doesn't want to play the game anymore. Instead, he tugs at his elder friend's sleeve. "I-Iroh? ...Can we go bake something together?"

***

"Why, this looks just like a giant beehive!" Iroh crows in delight, as Aang shows him the old oven in the open veranda.

"Because we pull sweet things out of it," Aang smiles timidly. "I think I've found Master Gyatso's favorite recipe, but I'm not sure if I can make it as good as he did. ...I never paid as much attention as I proably should have," he adds, with something that sounds like a cross between a laugh and another sniffle.

Iroh looks compassionately on the little monk--now the same age as Zuko had been, that fateful winter when they had first encountered him. He almost laughs and sniffles gently too, as he reaches to pat Aang's head, and realizes that the young Avatar is now slightly taller than him, the old dragon. ...And he remembers when Zuko's then-shaved crown had had that exact same feel of peachfuzz.

"Which filling do you want to try?" Aang shows Iroh the local fruits in a nearby tray--ready to make into gooey creams of pink, purple, green, or orange.

"Whichever of them you like, my boy. They all look _delicious,_ " Iroh beams (and the slight grumble from his belly shows that he is telling the truth).

The two of them sit down at a table and get busy. The old Fire prince almost coos with wonder, as he watches the little Avatar mixing the flour together, creating a tiny whirlwind in a bowl. And though he cannot do the same air tricks that Gyatso could, Iroh makes Aang laugh just as heartily, when he suddenly takes a smear of frosting and tickles it over the young monk's head. Aang remembers having to clean his face after pie-fights, as the old Firebender outlines his arrow in sugary purple.

_You are not betraying Gyatso. He was the closest thing you ever had to a father. But even people who grow up with normal fathers... they're allowed more than one grandfather, aren't they? And any number of uncles?_

Aang blows a big puff of flour into Iroh's face, and cannot tell which is funnier--the way the elder's eyes cross, as he tries to bat the dust out of his beard, or the way he laughs so uproariously himself.

_He is so like you, Master Gyatso. You would have been best friends._

A cheerful breeze blows around them for a moment, making some small green leaves dance about the table. Aang remembers holding onto his guardian's orange robe-hem, when he was no more than a toddler. And for a moment, he swears he can hear the old monk's voice in his head. Its airy lilt of kindness. Its calm, perpetual amusement.

_Of COURSE we would have, my little Aang. And why does that thought make you sad? You are there with him now! YOU can be his friend FOR me!_

Aang smiles again, almost determinedly, and rubs the tears out of one eye again, before Iroh can see.

They finish a whole set of cakes. Aang pulls their centers up into puffy swirls perfectly, just as Iroh lights the oven-fires to the perfect temperature. And though the old Fire prince _is_ different enough from Gyatso to insist on gobbling up the treats, instead of throwing them--he grins and makes one exception, when his nephew-turned-son comes to pick him up.

_SPLAT!!_

Iroh and Aang practically explode with mirth, not at all behaving like the dignified elder and Avatar they supposedly are. Who could keep a straight face, after all, with the Fire Lord's own handsome mug so covered with fluffy cake and gooey purple filling like that?

Luckily, Zuko has mellowed in recent years. Iroh hands him a towel.

The three of them have a pleasant little chat.

And before they leave the Air temple, Aang tugs on the older Firebender's red sleeve.

"Iroh?" he whispers, almost timidly again. "Zuko calls you 'Dad' now, right?"

Iroh beams over at his young relative, who is now boarding the airship gangplank. "Yes. My joy was unfathomable, when he finally decided to see me as such."

"Do you think..." Aang's voice becomes almost squeaky, sounding for all the world like it did when he was twelve. "...Do you think he would mind, if _I_ called you 'Uncle,' then?"

Iroh's amber eyes widen. And then he breaks into a fond smile. "Why Aang... would you _like_ to call me 'Uncle,' my dear boy?"

Aang's smile is growing now too, his little chin tucked down timidly. "Yeah," he whispers. "I really would."

The warm kimono sleeves envelop him before he even knows what is happening. "I can think of few honors greater, than being an uncle to my own Avatar," Iroh lets him know, sincerity filling his gruff voice. Then the twinkle comes back in his eyes, as he whispers himself. "And do you know what? As happy as being called a father makes me, I _have_ missed the old title, every once in a while." They both grin, as Iroh finally lets Aang out of the hug. "You call me your Uncle Iroh all you want, Aang."

"Goodbye, Uncle," Aang squeezes the old broad hand. "I'll be at the Western temple next month. Will you vist me there too? We can make cakes with the _green_ centers then!"

"I would not miss it, my little Avatar," the old Fire prince beams.

He follows Zuko onto the plank.

Momo comes flying up, and lands on Aang's shoulder, chirruping. They both begin to wave at their departing friends.

 _He is beginning to sprout some chin-hairs, by the look of it,_ Iroh muses, as he waves back. _His people treat him like a legend--I DO hope one of them will still realize he's a growing boy who needs instructions, and will teach him how to shave. Perhaps I should have offered,_ he wonders paternally.

 _Oh, but wait--he's been shaving that shiny bald head of his on top, since goodness knows when,_ he then remembers. _...Silly of me to worry like that, really._ Yet the old wrinkles crease with as much concern, and fondness, as ever, as Iroh finally tucks his hand back into his sleeves.

Aang thinks back on that winter, that winter when so much changed. He remembers first seeing that old bewhiskered face--really getting a good look at it--when barging through the wrong door, after escaping from his captors. He remembers how funny and harmless Iroh seemed--how unlike the other Fire soldiers--snoring away there on a pile of pillows.

 _I can remember a time, when I was afraid of Zuko,_ Aang smiles wistfully, as he finally lowers his own hand too. _But somehow... I was never afraid of YOU, Uncle Iroh._

The leaves dance on the wind, as the Fire airship pulls further and further into the sky.


End file.
